Winter's Child
by nikanak
Summary: Continued story of Makayla Aewood.
1. Author's Note

**Hello readers!**

**I'm overjoyed that you've decided to read this story. Please do keep in mind that the contents of this fanfiction is a continuation of a previous fanfiction that I wrote. I would definitely recommend reading the first fanfiction before reading this one. **

**The title of the first fanfiction is 'Of the Rest' by the author nikanak (or can be found under the stories section on my author's page). **

**Thank you so much for your interest in this series. **

**Enjoy!**


	2. Welcoming Committee

Here I am now, in the middle of the cold winter forest, the past behind me and the future ahead of me.

"Pull your arm back here," Sage's strong, voice commands, and he indeed pulls my arm up. The string of the bow feels as though it will snap in my long, strong fingers. I feel the winter forest whistle around me, mocking me, encouraging me, guiding me, distracting me. I feel the heartbeat of the game I am soon to shoot, the peaceful, heavy heartbeat thrumming from the ground into me.

"Okay, now let go," he instructs.

I can't let the arrow go. I can't kill the strange fey beast. I can't disrupt it's perfectly smooth heartbeat. But it seems to notice my shift in heart, my shift in certainty, my shift in comfort.

"It's already gone," Sage sighs, and I throw the contraption on the ground. "You hesitated, Mac," he tells me, bending down, to pick up the snow covered bow and ruined ice- tip arrow.

I turn to him, an angered expression on my face. I adjust my warm white- knit hat upon my thin black locks of straight hair. My pale hands fold over my chest and wrap around my sickly thin waist. I can feel the winter magic pounding through my body, fueling my icy anger. "I'm not going to kill a defenseless animal, Sage," I snap at him, trying to hide my embarrassment that I couldn't shoot simple game.

"You're just mad that you can't get your timing down," he states, looking me over with amused eyes.

Sage has really been the only friend to me since he turned me into a full- fey creature. He has been actually more of a big brother than a friend. He spends hours teaching me how to focus my winter magic, control my newly intensified emotions, and most recently has been trying to teach me to hunt and fight.

It has been nearly a month since my transformation, and to be quite honest, the time has passed too quickly for me to notice. With the transformation and Sage's enthusiastic guidance, I am almost a fourth of the way to really becoming a true fey. My strong royal magic is still very unstable, and the changes to and in my body are hard to adjust to. Sage has put up with many angry outbursts and dealt with many spontaneous bursts of tears over the past few weeks. And here he is in the midst of one again.

"You have no right to tell me-" my voice rises before Sage places his enormous, cold hand over my mouth, cutting off my words.

"Stop," he tells me, trying to get me to channel and control my anger, which coincidentally makes me even more irritated. "Just be quiet for a minute and think about what you feel."

I am quiet for maybe twenty seconds before I huff, and shove away his hand. "I'm calm, I'm calm," I brush him aside, still annoyed, but less angry.

My white leather boots crunch in the snow as I start walking the way back to the palace, Sage following close behind me, humbly carrying my arrows and large bow. He really has been much too kind. I should be suspicious, but I'm not.

His brother, Rowan, I haven't seen in nearly two weeks, since my turning fey. I can remember the moment when I first woke to his face hovering over mine, his lips pulled into a twisted grin, his crystal eyes so proud and so offended of his successful experiment, his hand in a tight grip over my eternal bruise encircling my wrist. I had fought him then, trying to use the random bursts of emotion and winter magic to kick, punch, and scream, but it Rowan was quick to beat me for my _'rude behavior'_. I spat on him and he shoved me hard against a large wooden dresser that almost fell atop my new, tiny body. And finally he shoved something sharp, cold, and metallic-feeling into my left shoulder, and I almost feinted. "You're not human anymore," he hissed, twisting the metal inside my shoulder as I cried out in pain. "Remember that." He left me alone there, iron dagger shoved into my chest. It was the first time that I had ever experienced the effects of iron on a fey, and it wasn't the last time either.

It didn't even feel like an hour before Rowan came back, stabbed me again, and left me there to bleed in pain. After a few days of this, the Queen had summoned me, and I could barely move far enough to make it into the hallway, shivering and weak and afraid. My magic was healing me, but I could do nothing but wait for the iron poisoning to quickly be fixed. It was then that Sage found me, curled in the corner of a long dark hallway, bleeding and crying out, begging him not to beat me too. But Sage helped me rid my body of the iron poisoning quickly and talked to the queen in my absence, and has stayed with me to protect me ever since.

I look back at him, recalling his kind actions, feeling the bruise still ever on my wrist, still feeling the sting of those iron wounds, still afraid of what Rowan will do to me when Sage decides to abandon me, like all people do in my life: my mother, my brother and father and uncle, the summer court, Puck.

I force thoughts of my broken heart out of my mind, not ready to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of the winter forest, so public to the rest of the court. Puck chose to feed me to the wolves, to give me up. I can't stay fixed on him. He is a thing of the past, from my human life.

Before we reach the palace doors, I tug down my tight black cloth skirt of my dress, very mortal, very classy, very revealing of my not-so-fey-like curves. I am a mixture of white and black. White hat, black hair, white skin, black dress, white leather boots, black legwarmers, white leather jacket. White and black: all I ever seem to be nowadays.

Sage opens the door for me to step through, but who I see there makes me jerk back several steps. Rowan stands there, arms crossed, still smirking coolly at me. "The Queen requests your presence, Sage," he says slyly to Rowan, his eyes fixed on me. Sage steps around Rowan inside, looking back to his brother with an unreadable expression.

"She'll be along in a minute, brother," Rowan says to his older sibling. "Mab wishes to speak with her, too." And all Sage can do is go to the Queen. It's his orders.

Rowan attacks me, slamming me back against the thick wooden door that remains wide open. I fight dirty and feel the nails digging into his skin, letting the winter magic sting him painfully through my now icicle-sharp nails. He doesn't flinch, but smirks at the pain.

"Don't think you can hide behind my older brother, girl," he hisses in my ear, and I am too petrified to move, my magic has failed me, my heart is fluttering quickly, my fear has me locked in a defenseless position. "You belong to me. I made you, Makayla."

I can't even speak. Anger isn't present, but fear. I see his cold eyes threatening as they stare into my own vivid blue pupils. I can't even say a retort, I can't even think anything but fear as my hands freeze on his forearms, nails back to dull stubs, magic hiding somewhere inside as my heart pounds.

"Now run along," he tosses me in the palace and I am launched into the cold stone wall, I turn around slowly, and his hand is on my wrist, physically showing his power over me. "We'll meet again soon, I'm sure of it," he laughs, letting me go as the wooden door slams shut in front of me. I let out deep, hysterical breaths, feeling the magic bubble up again inside, shy to come out, worried and just as afraid as I am.

I have to force myself to walk to the Queen's throne room. I can barely think or breathe, but I can tell I am even paler than normal, and my hands are uncontrolably shaking as I make my way through the glimmering doors of the winter Queen's domain.


	3. Loyalties

The winter Prince Ash brushes past me on his way out of the Queen's presence. I can't look him in the eyes, but only hide my shaking hands behind my back as Sage and his mother talk quietly to each other.

I'm not sure if she ignores me, or if she doesn't notice that I'm in the room, but I have to clear my throat and bow my head before Mab addresses me. "You look unwell," she states, just as blunt as Sage with as much bite as Rowan and as distasteful an expression as Ash. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and she looks as if she controls the world, which she does to some extent, I guess. Her crisp white suit demands respect and screams elegance. Her freshly painted nails tap against her icy throne.

"I'm just cold," I said quietly, trying to meet her eyes after a few minutes. "I was out in the forest, my queen."

She laughs and the noise is something of a snort and a tinkling of glass. "And what would a girl like you be doing in the forest?" Mab talks as if I'm still a mortal, as if I'm still not capable of being out in the faerie world, as if I'm not actually a member of the winter court.

"I-" I start, but stop myself and look at Sage. "I just needed a bit of fresh air," I say, leaving out Sage, tucking a strand of my black hair behind my almost pointed ears. I see a shift in Mab's facial features. She knows I'm not telling her the entire truth.

"These walks in the forest, these excursions with my son," the queen snaps at me, "are going to stop." Her voice is icy and spiteful and had almost a tinge of worry in it. "It has come to my attention that Sage and you have been noted in the public eye. My subjects are making assumptions and asking questions about you, and we simply cannot have that. Am I understood?"

I nod once but pause. "You don't want anyone to know that I was human," I stated more to myself than to her.

"To be honest, I don't want my court to even know you exist." Her words are harsh and I can do nothing but take them. "But nevertheless, you have been seen, and gossip has a nasty way of putting us in the worst situations. So you are not to go outside of this palace again, at least until rumors have run their course. Am I clear?"

She already knows that her words are clear, that she is very well understood. But I cannot help but ask. "My queen?" I ask. "May I ask what gossip is being spread?" Curiosity has gotten the better of me, and if I'm going to be locked away for the next few weeks or months, I want to know why.

"Not that it is any of your concern." Of course it isn't. "But the rumors are of Prince Sage and you." Obviously. "They are saying that you might be the new princess of the winter court." Which I technically am, because it was royal blood that turned me fey. "They think you're my Son's future wife."

My mouth drops open and I am taken aback. My eyes can't help but move to Sage, who still wears an emotionless expression on his face. I see that his eyes are somewhat amused, though I am close to feinting from the stress. My hands are still shaking and heart trying to calm down from Rowan's threats not ten minutes ago.

"I'm gathering from your dumb expression that you share my concern for the matter," Queen Mab says to me, and I am offended, but really more worried than anything.

"Yes, mam," I respond quickly, letting my eyes drop to the marble floor, somewhat embarrassed, somewhat not paying attention.

"Good," she says, then barks at me to leave, saying a motherly farewell to her oldest son.

I am walking down a hallway towards my room when his strong hand touches my arm, and I turn to see Sage smiling down at me.

"It's not funny," I tell him, and he tilts his head to the left slightly, still smiling. "Seriously, Sage. The last thing I want to do is draw attention."

His disregards my words as his eyes drop to seriousness once again, like he remembered something suddenly, like he had forgotten entirely what he was smiling about to begin with. He gently takes hold of my left arm, and rolls up my sleeve to look at my black and blue bruised wrist. "Did he hurt you?" Sage asks, examining it. I already know that he wonders why it hasn't gone away. I already know that he's tried to heal it for me. I already know that he thinks that Rowan is still abusing me.

"No," I say shyly, looking at the handprint- shaped mark that has become a part of my new body, my new life. "He just-"

I hear Rowan's voice cut through the hallway, drowning out my words, making me pull my shivering hands from Sage's tender hold. I look at the ground as I hear Rowan's words. "What did I do, _Mac_?" He places an emphasis on my nickname and I try not to flinch as he stops in front of me. My fear has my hands shaking and my mouth glued shut. "Maybe you should teach her to hold her tongue next, brother."

I can literally hear the smirk in his voice, and I wonder how he can be so cold, so disrespectful, so vindictive. My voice shakes as I snap back at him, "Maybe you should learn to hold your own." My eyes can't meet his, but I feel defiant. His smirk drops, an irritated, angered expression on his face.

His hand wraps around my wrist quickly and painfully and I let out a quiet little gasp. His cold hand stings the raw, discolored flesh there, and I look quickly to his pale hand around my paler wrist. But Rowan lets go when Sage pushes his shoulder backwards.

"Be calm," he commands his younger brother as he steps in front of me. I graciously hide behind him, glaring at Rowan, cradling my hurting wrist, trying to force my hands not to shake.

This seems to have Rowan even more angered. "She is not yours to protect, Sage," he challenges his brother. "I made her fey, she is mine."

"She's not an animal, brother," Sage says, the first time I have ever heard his words forceful. "Remember where your loyalties lie," Rowan spits, shoving past his older brother. He slows to glare at me. I can see in his eyes that he's going to attack again. I can see that Rowan seeks to beat me for befriending his brother. I can see that I'm unsafe, even with Sage to guard me during the day.

When Rowan has stormed off, Sage looks back to me, and all I can do is walk at his side towards my room again. "Thank you," I say to him, glad for his friendship. "I owe you one," I say, and he stops, and looks me, quite serious.

"No," he orders, and I'm confused. "Don't make those promises, Makayla. Never. An oath like that is a powerful thing in the faerie world."

"I don't understand," I say. "I was only saying thank-"

"Thank yous and promises can be used against you," he tells me, and I wonder how the topic has never come up before. I had to have said that to him sometime in the past month, right? "Faeries are never to be trusted, remember that."

I nod, startled by his strange warning.

He drops me off at my room and leaves in a quite a hurry, saying how he has things to do and distantly calling a goodbye.

I sneak into my room quickly, grateful to end the day and afraid to start tomorrow.


	4. Resistance

It seems like an eternity that I've been outside my room, seen Sage, taken in fresh air.

I am pacing across the hard wood floor, always stopping at the window for what seems like a minute or five, and retreating back into the room the second I see another glimpse of a fey, even far in the distance. I want to go outside the room, but I feel it would be unwise, and somewhere inside I still fear Rowan's revenge.

I feel my magic throbbing in my hands, aching to be used in any way possible. My bare feet slap against the cold floor, and I angrily retreat from the window once more, towards my wardrobe to find a pair of socks or warm boots. I pull a pair of tall socks on over my black leggings and pull on a pair of sparkling white legwarmers up to my knees, before sliding on my soft black fur-lined leather knee-high boots and lacing the comfortable slipper-feeling shoe up the side. I wear a too- big dark grey sweater that I'm pretty sure was Sage's, for it is nearly ten sizes too big, but I am warm and stylish enough for the winter court in this human-like garb, so I pick what I wish from my vast amount of new clothing, and normally I am acceptable.

My laces have only just been tied when my bedroom door flies open, and I stand up quickly, holding back from letting out a sharp scream. I see Rowan's smirk and instantly, I duck for my nightstand which has a rusty iron dagger upon it, still stained with my own blood. He grabs me, right as my left hand closes around the hilt, and whirls me around to face him, forcing me to drop my blade.

Rowan holds my wrists tightly in front of me, wrestling to keep me from attacking him. He holds me so tightly and so close to his chest, I can feel his cold breath on my forehead, making me shiver, despite my warm clothing. "You cunning fox," he hisses, disgustedly. "Hiding behind my own brother. How long did you really expect plan to work in your favor?"

I am silent, trying to pull my limbs free, trying not to let my fear overpower me, trying to gather my winter magic for an attack.

"What?" Rowan mocks me. "Now you're too shy to talk? Now you won't say anything?" I hear an anger in his voice as he talks. I am leading my quiet struggle. "Speak," he spits at me. I am still quiet as my body stops moving and I stop resisting. The magic bubbles in my fingertips. "Speak!" he yells, over and over, I'm not sure how many times.

And I let the magic go with a gasp, pushing Rowan backwards with an unknown force, getting my hands free, looking up to his eyes as he angrily glares at me. The magic surges in me, making me confident and cautious. "Leave," I tell him, not daring to say anymore.

"Excuse me?" he snaps.

"Leave!" I yell at him, knowing I've crossed the line. He's proclaimed royalty. He could have my head for raising my voice to him.

Rowan steps closer to me and we are maybe a half a foot apart. He seems to be restraining himself, for his hands well into tight fists. "You would do well to remember your place," he hisses, moving to grab my wrist, but I pull it away before he can reach.

"Leave," I say again, even toned, magic pounding like adrenaline through my veins.

He takes a step back and turns towards the door. I let out a breath, unsure of whether it's relief or fear.

And suddenly he twirls around, decking me left in the eye, sending me falling to the floor from the sheer force of the blow. He pulls my head up by my hair and is holding something sharp at my throat: my iron dagger. My eye throbs, my neck sears in pain. All I can see is his diamond eyes glaring right into mine as I gasp for breath.

"You are mine, Aewood," he barks at me.

In anger, I slide push myself out of his hold, neglecting the dagger. It slices a deep line through Sage's sweater from my collarbone to my left shoulder and I can't help but scream loudly, letting out a gasp of pain. I manage to punch Rowan in the ribcage, and I hear a sickening crunch. I don't know if I broke my hand or dented his ribs. I battle through the almost incapacitating pain, though. Magic barrels out of me, pushing Rowan back towards the door before we both collapse on the ground, tired of fighting.

Rowan glares at me, breathing heavily, not willing to admit defeat. I feel the iron dizzying me, making me weak. I feel my magic surging to fix the poisonous wound, neglecting my defense against Rowan. I am gasping for breath, my body bruised, torn, and crushed. I feel like I'm choking, like I'm drowning, like I'm throbbing, like I'm slowly going to die here. While Rowan watches.

"I hate you," I breath in between gasps for air. I feel a sticky coating of blood and sweat over my body, especially around my shoulder.

Rowan smirks through his pain, but rises to his feet slowly. I can't do the same. My head can barely even lift up high enough to watch his legs as he limps to the door. I see it slam closed behind him, I hear it locking into place.

My hands and knees give out under me as I topple to the ground. I can see my blood pooling on the wooden floor from my iron wound, but I can do nothing to stop it. I can't even move to find Sage or call for help. I feel so alone and ruined and defenseless, however hard I fought Rowan tonight, he still walked away from the fight when I couldn't even get up. Rowan's words ring in my memory, and when my vision fails and my eyes are glued shut, I can only see his lips in a pained smirk.

'You are mine.'


	5. Ignorance

"Ow!" I hiss at Sage, who is gently touching the gash from that iron dagger. I feel pale and cold and clammy, and my shoulder stings with a hurt that is numbing.

Sage doesn't take his hands away. "I'm going to tell Mab about this," he says to me. I'm not sure what exactly he's doing. I feel my magic working to heal the other bruises and cuts and fractures over my body, avoiding my shoulder, finishing up on fixing the easy wounds first.

"I doubt she'll care," I say through gritted teeth, not looking at the massive wound Sage is cleaning and healing and bandaging.

Sage is silent to this, and we sit awkwardly for a minute before he asks me, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

I sigh, looking down to my cold thin fingers that rest in my cross-legged lap. "I was alone up here and Sage came in and attacked me. What else do you need to know?" I felt his fingers stop in place at the nape of my neck.

"And you couldn't fight back?" he asked me, I hear something strange in his voice, but I can't look up into those eyes. I can't tell him that I failed. I can't see the disappointment.

"I tried," I say quietly, remember Rowan's words.

'You are _mine_.'

I hold back a shiver that threatens to run down my spine. My hands are already starting to shake though, and Sage senses my fear and shame. "You're strong enough to prevent him from attacking you like this, Mac," he says. "Rowan plays mind games, his physicality is his weakness."

"I beg to differ," I snap, and Sage is back to bandaging the cut from my neck to my shoulder.

Sage laughs. "He hides behind his weapons and his threats," he tells me. "I have no doubt that with the proper training you could injure Rowan severely."

There is a pause in the air and I choose to speak. "And_ you'll_ teach me?" I ask Sage.

"We've already started," he says. "I've already been teaching you how to focus your magic, strengthening you with hunting exercises. And now I can train you in hand to hand combat."

"Right," I look up to his face. He carefully examines my bandaged shoulder, touches my injured, bruised wrist, notes my quickly healing black eye. And it is then that our eyes meet, and I let out a deep breath.

"You also ruined my sweater," he says, his lips slowly pulling into a smile.

And with that our friendship continues, despite the wishes of the queen. In the following weeks I get to know Sage better, we talk more as he trains me to fight, we hunt in the forest again. He protects me like a child, defending me from the Winter Court, from the Queen, from Rowan. Sage accompanies me everywhere, and I begin to wonder if he has duties outside of keeping me safe and teaching me of the strange faerie kingdom I am so a part of. I'm sure he does.

It's not, though, as if rumors have stopped, we've ignored them. Everywhere we go, I hear murmurs of the words engagement and marriage. Everywhere we go, even in the castle, eyes follow us, close to pick up any hint of friendship or courtship between the pair of us. We haven't talked about the awkward matter again. The Queen has chosen to stay out of the scandal, though I believe she is disgusted by the rumors of Prince Sage and me, even if we are simply close friends.

I must know somewhere in the back of my mind that ignoring the matter would only make the rumors worse. I have known. I know that the Winter Court is hostile and brutal, but in the past weeks with Sage, I've come not to notice.

Ignorance always gets the better of us.


	6. Chiming Bells

I know it is serious when Queen Mab herself walks into a training session. I am sweaty and breathing heavily, fighting Sage with a large, carved, wooden stick. He yanks it up under my knees before noticing the Queen and I fall backwards on my rear in her majesty's presence.

She looks at me like I'm a piece of road-kill, guts spewed on the side of a highway. "I must know your intentions with each other," she demands.

I'm speechless. But Sage, ever diplomatic, has a quick response. "It's all idle chatter, my Queen," he says, dipping his head in respect.

I'm still stunned, sitting awkwardly on the dirt-packed ground, hair a mess and magic tingling.

"It is protocol that in the lands when a Prince is married, the other Court must be present," the Queen snaps at him. "Now Oberon himself might not care for the matter, but word says that Titania has heard of this match and has taken offence."

Sage has a straight face. I've never seen the Queen in a fury before, but this would be it. The room drops ten degrees colder, her pale skin is growing blue and frosty as the seconds tick on, and I can almost see her magic jumping out of her faerie body.

"It will not come to attack-" Sage says, speaking to calmly the Queen.

"Wars have been fought over less than a wedding invitation!" she shouts.

The room is still, my breathing stops. Only the icy air hangs between the three of us. Sage and I don't know what to say. This is the second time that I've heard of war between the Summer and Winter courts and this is the second time that the conflict is centered around myself. My cheeks can't help but go pink with a cold blush. Mab stares at me like she knows it's my fault: she reads my thoughts and insecurities.

"This is what will happen," she tells us slowly and chillingly icy. "There will be a feast that we shall host in the coming week. They can make their own assumptions about the event, but the Summer Court and its officials will be in attendance. It is the only way I can think to solve this dispute before things become violent."

I know better than to talk back, and apparently Sage does too. He says his goodbye to the Queen as she exits. I am about to stand up to talk to him about our feast when he knocks me back down with a carved wooden weapon, ignoring it again.

"Do you have confrontation issues?" I snap at him, rising slowly to my feet only to be smack back down by the stick. I push away the training tool and stand again quickly, fleeing to the other side of the room and crossing my arms across my chest. He looks at me, tilting his head only slightly, as if he's a little angry himself.

"And have spoken about the topic recently, Mac?" he accuses in an even voice. And he has a point, but I am insistent upon working this out at this very second.

"We're not engaged," I speak. "We're not getting married. So we shouldn't be putting on the pretense that we are. That's what this is. An engagement party."

"If a marriage feast is what the Summer Court wishes to be present at, I am not going to argue," he states.

I can only stare at him. "We're not going to be married, though," I say.

He is looking at me with a twisted expression on his face. I'm still blushing a rosy pink color on my pale skin. "Do you truly wish to speak about this matter?" he asks.

And he sighs as we both sit down cross legged on the cold stone floor. He speaks first. "My intentions have not been honest with you, Makayla," he states. My heart drops out of my chest. I can't feel it beating. "You're in danger in our court when you stand alone," he tells me. "That's why I have accompanied you these months since you've become fey. Because on your own you'd be attacked or killed or exiled, and I couldn't let that happen to you. My blood runs in your veins, Makayla, I can't let you simply disappear from my own life." I take a deep breath, his eyes hold my own. "I'd do whatever it takes to keep you this safe, even if it means marriage."

I can't help but close my eyes and think of Puck: horrible, betraying, cruel Puck, whom my heart still aches for. "But it's not love," I say in a girlish whimsical sigh as my eyes remain shut and my head down.

"No," he admits. Maybe it could be one day, but it isn't love today, just obligation. "But in this land, events hardly ever happen the way we wish they would."

There is a silence as I open my eyes, and uncontrollably I feel the urge to cry. I meet the emotion with resistance and a deep shaky breath. "So we're getting married." I let the sentence hang in the air between us.


	7. Anticipation

I'm constantly looking over my shoulder for the hateful, spiteful, vengeful glare of Rowan. Ever since the engagement and since our training has stopped, I can almost feel his hate swelling towards me. His own creation to be married into the family. His own creation to be a Winter Princess.

I nervously play with the cold platinum band around my finger with only the smallest of humble emeralds imbedded in the metal frame: the same green as Sage's eyes. It was simple and not overpowering, and suited us both rather well.

The Queen nearly threw a fit. Only a day after she announced the feast, Sage announced the engagement. I've been trying to keep a low profile since that date, but with the feast fast approaching, it's been difficult.

She's given me a stylist again, who bathes me, clothes me, and primps me nearly every time I enter my room, even before I lay down to sleep. Gaitha is the elf- looking woman's name, and she is obsessed with perfecting the imperfections that I hardly cared about before. The slender, green skinned woman doesn't talk, she just sews, creates, dresses, and decorates. I haven't come to know her well. She's never said a single word to me. But she has talent. And she was one of the only stylists available for the Queen to rid herself of, at least until I am taught to make a proper glamour, which Gaitha was supposed to teach me. I don't think she likes me very much.

Sage is at my side constantly since the announcement. When Gaitha is dressing me in the bath room, he is standing outside the door talking to me. When I'm walking to grab a snack from the kitchens, he follows me. When I go outside to finally tour the streets of the Winter Court, his arm is around my shoulders, showing me off to the Court, letting them gain my sympathy. When I found my way lost into a shady, mystic market, he found me and wrenched me away from the site. I appreciate his protection of me. He is still not a fiancé, he's an older brother, a bodyguard.

And it is today that he has private matters to attend to. I feel horrible for taking up so much of Sage's precious time. I can't describe how much it pains me that I know so little about him, yet he knows nearly everything about me. I never thought that anyone in the fey world could have such life, such kindness, such strength as Sage does. I respect him more than he knows. I value his company more than he knows.

And in his absence, I'm uneasy. Sage has become such a part of my daily ritual, I can't not be with him for less than a few hours. "This is pitiful," I mutter to myself as I make my way barefoot to the kitchens. Oh, if Gaitha could see me now, baggy sweatpants around my hips, black hair pulled up into a messy bun, sweatshirt half zipped, tank-top off balance, remnants of day old eyeliner smudged across my lids. I look rather human to be quite honest, but still my new fey beauty has a way of smoothing everything out, and somehow I don't even seem to care that I don't look perfect today.

When I hit the kitchens, they are unusually empty. Then again, this is unusually early for me to be visiting the kitchens. So I grab a spoon and a bowl of warm, sticky, sweet porridge of some kind and sit myself cross legged on the bar- type stool that sits near the tiled countertop for me. I sit in the silence, eating my oatmeal- like substance with a happy smile on my face.

That is until ten or more chefs, followed by nearly twenty or forty members of the kitchen staff throw me out of the kitchen snatching the porridge away before I can finish my generous helping of the addictive stuff.

I am confused until I turn around and Rowan is hovering near me, not extremely invading of my personal space, yet still too close for comfort. We both don't move, but he speaks. "Excited for your party?" he snaps sarcastically, mocking me.

I'm silent, but the muscles in my arms and legs tense, ready to run, or punch him in the face.

His icy eyes glare daggers into me. "I don't expect us to be civil," he says. "But I want to warn you Miss Aewood that you're playing a very dangerous game. A game in which you have powerful enemies. A game that you can't even begin to predict the outcome."

"You made me to be fey!" I hiss at him in a low voice. "You were the one who forced Sage to try and protect me, and you were the one who started this game."

He steps closer, and my arms rise slowly in front of me. "And you are merely a pawn," he hisses back.

"Come at me!" I yell the human phrase before I can realize.

Rowan laughs as he pivots on his heel and walks away. "See you at the feast tomorrow, _sister_," he spits the word like its poison on his smirking lips. I let the anger seep out of my system slowly, not allowing myself to answer his threats, to answer his intimidation. Yet as he leaves, my hand goes to the scar from only a few weeks earlier, where he cut me with that iron blade from neck to shoulder. It stings with his memory and I have to force myself to move down the hallways to distract myself from the memory of pain.

My fingers twiddle with the platinum and emerald band that spins around my finger, and I can only wonder what Rowan's ultimate plan is, for I'm sure there is more than he is letting on.

As I walk down the hall, I don't want to face Gaitha who I'm guessing waits for me in my room, ready to make measurements for my gown for tomorrow. And I can't possibly walk around the court like a slob all day. So when I pass by a small library of which I haven't noticed before, I go in and shut the door, escaping from the Winter Court if only for an hour.


	8. Doubtful Notions

The room is barely bigger than the kitchen from my old apartment in New York, but there are hundreds of books that line the entire room. I pull one out of its place on the dusty shelf and the spine opens with a crack. The neglected texts beg for me to read them, but as I try, the words are coded in strange symbols and confusingly ordered, and although I can somehow make out a few words, I cannot read them all.

Gaitha charges in before I can really look through the book. I see a word that means human, a word that means test, and a word that means blood, and I cannot help but feel an eerie chill down my spine before the old leather- bound manuscript crashes from my hands to the chilling marble floor. I hardly get time to explain myself as my caretaker rolls her eyes at me furiously and grabs my arm, dragging me from the library back to my room.

As she pulls and stretches and sizes and measures and sews and re-sews, I can't help but think about what the ancient books in the small library were, selfishly thinking that they had something to do with myself. But Gaitha clears her throat and pulls me out of my thoughts. And for the first time, I hear my seamstress, my babysitter, speak to me.

"You will take care of this dress," she tolls me coldly. "I put much time into forming and protecting this dress. You will keep it safe." The fey never meets my eyes. And as I throw the words around in my mind, they seem off. 'Protect' and 'safe' don't sound like words to describe a silly dress she could make again in maybe an hour at most. It clicks in my mind that she is telling me to stay safe and to make sure I don't get myself into trouble.

I look down at her, but she pushes my chin back up so I can stand straight, but I can only smile. "Don't worry," I say back quietly. "I'll take care of it."

It is when she finally finishes the dress and is gently removing it from my thin frame that Sage bursts in, and I scream, clutching short black silk robe around my bare body. It is a shock to me that Sage doesn't blush in the slightest or even avert his eyes.

Gaitha, though hurriedly drags me into the bathing room and shoves a baggy black sweatshirt over my head as I pull on the white pajama shorts and the thick woolen socks she throws at me. And when I get back out, Sage is sitting on the bed, looking attentive as always.

"We need to speak," he tells me, and drags me from my room, to a room that looks more like a lounge or a study several hallways away from my own. The floor goes from marble to black squishy carpeting, and the furniture is a dark oak and soft emerald and leather.

Curiously I look around. "Where are we?" I mumble, sort of used to not talking the past few days.

"My room," Sage states, sitting down comfortably on a large brown leather sofa. "My study, actually."

I'm shocked as I sink into the huge comfy leather chair across from him. I sink into the cool material that wraps around my legs, my back, and even my arms. Never had I imagined Sage as having his own room, his own life outside mine. I look around the room seeing foreign objects. A book opened on a grand desk that flips a page as I stare at it for a second. A small globe, spinning constantly and slowly in the air without an axis, without any strings. A collection of beautiful arrows. Several walls lined with books stacked to the high ceiling. A pale pink handkerchief framed in oak and hanging on the wall. It makes my heart stop, but I cannot stop looking. The remains of a broken pearl necklace fallen on the floor. A memory of a puffy, black, silk gown and a delicate fey, no older than myself, sobbing as the male, Sage, grabs her wrist, begging her not to go. Pearls scatter, he yells, she runs, he stays. Holding that pale pink handkerchief, letting out a roar of anger and sadness, and finally silence. And before he cries, I am pulled back to reality with his persistent, even-toned voice.

"-and Mab wants to move the date closer, but I told her we've barely even talked about it yet-" Sage continues, and I nod, because it's all I really can do.

I'm not sure if the vision is real or if it was imagined, but my mind pieces together my thoughts and my feelings. Sage has loved before, and it hasn't been me. Sage has a life, and it has nothing to do with me. Sage has duties, and can't be bothered with me. But I can't tell him. I cannot just say I can't marry him, can I? But he deserves happiness.

"Are you okay?" He catches me off- guard with the question.

I admit to him that I wasn't listening at all and that I was just daydreaming. I know that he can't just be my brother figure anymore. I know that it's too late for that. So I sit and I listen to him babble about wedding dates and who we have to invite to the actual wedding and the music that must be present and the food for the guests and the actual ceremony. I participate in the conversation, the planning, with Sage. I should be excited for my own wedding, shouldn't I?

At the end of the night, he brings me back to my room and looks at me closely. "We're going to work this all out, I promise," he tells me. And somehow he knows that I doubtful of our plans to be married, but his presence and his knowledge of my doubts is actually calming.

"I know," I tell him, and he bids me goodnight, giving me a short, familial kiss on the forehead.

I go to sleep, unready for the engagement party the next day, and uneasy about the wedding.


	9. Uneasy Return

**A/N: Dearest readers. First, I would like to thank you for your patience. I'm going though a lot right now between schoolwork, fitness goals, blogging, and trying to keep up with writing this fanfic. So I apologize that many of my chapters are up weeks and even months after the previous chapter. I'm working on it. I'm only human. Secondly, I want to apologize for all of the grammatical errors within my chapters. I try to proofread, but sometimes, things get past me. You're all so wonderful for still reading this story. I do hope you enjoy it. The next few chapters are going to be exciting. **

**Now back to the story…**

I can't remember how early we arrive at the summer court. Truth be told, I don't actually remember leaving the winter court. We show up just before sunrise, when the court is still quiet, and I am escorted by a yawning young summer faerie to a room that I remember all too clearly. She gives me a smile, and I think I knew her once, but she leaves too quickly for me to realize.

I am still exhausted. I lean against the wall, unlace the pair of warm tan boots up my calves, and pad across the smooth dirt- like floor to a bed that welcomes me back like an old friend. When my head hits the pillow I hear little voices, and feel tiny summer creatures gently pulling on my straight hair, whispering in confusion. I sigh, accepting their feather- light touch on my cold skin, their small giggles and chirping laughter as they set to work braiding and playing with my long black hair.

Nothing feels the same though. I'm not all warm and tingly. I'm not carefree and fragile. I'm going to be a winter princess. I don't belong here anymore. But still the summer fey welcome me into their court. I decide, just before a sleep takes me over, that it's probably out of pity.

It seems as though the second I fall asleep, I am awakened again, by Gaitha swatting at air above my head. "Shoo," she is hissing at the friendly summer fey that have managed to put my long straight black hair into wild, bouncy curls that remind so much of the hair I had when I was human.

I smile up at her as she drags me to my feet, picking little white flowers from my curls, and putting them in a small silver bowl on a dresser. And after going through every curl, she leaves my hair alone and re-dresses me.

I get one glance at the gown she has made for me before it is on. It is a floor-length number, long enough, I know, so that I won't have to wear shoes at all to the engagement party. It's a shimmery silver made of a light material that hugs my mid- body just right, showing off my slender frame. But it flairs out at my hips, coming to a layered halt on the ground. The top of the dress reminds me of a cami as it meets into thin straps. On the other side of the dress, my entire back is shown as it meets into a point at the small of my back. I can feel my curls tickle the bare skin there.

I feel like a princess even before Gaitha opens a large black velvet jewelry box. She takes out a thin silver band, intricately woven into a celtic- looking pattern. An emerald is placed right in the center of the band, an emerald that seems to reflect my eye color, but maintain its deep green hue. Gaitha arranges the band around my curls, letting the emerald sit right in the middle of my forehead.

I dare a glance into the mirror at the regal creature that doesn't look a thing like myself, but makes my same movements. How much have I changed since my last time here? I think Gaitha notices my vanity and awe and pushes me out the door before I can reflect on my appearance.

It is there that my face meets the smooth bare chest of a stranger. But when I look up his face is known. That wild orange hair, those playful, loving eyes, his chiseled, inhumanly muscular chest. It appears that he's been standing here for a long while, and I quickly look away, hoping that I'm not blushing too embarrassingly.

"Makayla," he gives a short bow, I hear the anxiety in his voice, the hope, the nervousness.

And I can't even courtesy back or meet his eyes. I can't even bear look at his bright red hair that hangs in his face messily. I leave. I can't run through the halls. I can't say anything back. I just walk away from Puck, stunned and embarrassed and confused.

I think I'm more surprised that he doesn't follow me. I hope that he's gone to put a shirt back on before the event. My eyes are fixed on the floor as I get lost in the maze of hallways that make up the summer court. I am thinking of him, of the pain his memories bring, of the happiness I want to forget so badly. I have to be walking down the hallways for an hour, trying to find something or someone familiar in the patterns of the dirt floor.

When I hear my name, I look up like a deer in the headlights. "You look like royalty," Sage comments, not commenting on the anxiety he sees in my facial expression. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a tight squeeze before asking me if I'm ready for our party.

Truth be told, I'm not at all ready. I feel like everything is happening in double time. Get dressed, see Puck, meet Sage, go to Party. I want to just step back for a minute to catch my breath. "Yeah, let's go," I say with forced cheer and a tiny smile on my face. Time moves quicker still.

I'm whisked away to a large garden with a stage for music, a wide open field for dancing, and several long tables. The Summer King and Queen, and Mab are conversing at the head table, which Sage escorts me to, holding my hand tightly.

I bow to all three persons of royalty and respectfully remain quiet, forcing myself to pay attention to the fake pleasantries and forced laughter that goes in double time. Sage is just as quiet and just as respectful, but he is actually enjoying the small talk. They serve me a sweet, honey- tasting wine that leaves me too dizzy as the event rushes by.

I'm sitting at one of the long tables, eating one of the best meals of my life, next to my future husband and his mother as we all stiffly talk about politics, and I try to hold in a fit of giggles. After the second glass of wine, my goblet vanishes, and I suspect Sage has taken it. And after the best meal of my life, the best music I've ever heard meets my ears, and I rise, dragging Sage with me to the field to wildly dance in the crowds of mixed fey.

He stands my protector, swaying from side to side, not letting any other fey get close enough to do me any harm. I feel his hands grab my waist and turn me around to face him when the music slows slightly.

"You're very drunk," he tells me, and I can see a hint of laughter in his eyes.

I'm hanging on him. Literally hanging, with my arms around his neck and my head leaning on his broad chest. My protector, my guardian, my Sage. I can't even remember how I could feel any doubt the previous night. This feels perfect: Sage, my protector, always here for protection and to…protect.

"It was rude to just leave the Oberon and Titania and Mab like that," he chides. And I nod against his chest, letting him spin me around slowly. "We should probably apologize," he says.

"Not yet," I look up at him.

"Mac, I have to speak with them," he tells me, stopping our constant spinning, making my senses roll to a halt. "You stay and dance. And try not to get into trouble."

"What?" I ask, but he's gone, and as my drunkenness begins to settle within me, I am twirled into another stranger's strong arms. But he's not a stranger. And as he spins me round and round and round into another haze, I am stopping myself.

My world halts, but music and movement continue around me. I'm not dancing with Sage. I'm not this trustworthy of any person. I can't be dancing with-

"No!" I push his chest back, his chiseled chest, finally looking into his hungry, playful eyes. "Stop it, Puck!" I snap as he tries to twirl me into another dance. I angrily stomp a step backwards. The crowd is still moving around us, not paying any attention, making their way through their own drunken stupors.

"Mac-"

"No!" I bark more at myself than at him, and I run backwards into the heavy crowd, hiding myself from this traitor of my trust. I see his bright orange hair bobbing after me, and it's all I can do not to lash out. I run through the crowd, into a close doorframe, and through the hallways as I hear Puck catch up.

He grabs my elbow roughly, shoving me in a small empty room, turning me around to face him as he says with a huff, "We are talking about this."


	10. Confrontation

He slams me roughly against the wall and his hot lips attack my own savagely. He has me pinned in a kiss that takes all of my will to push away.

When I finally shove him off and wipe the summer dew off of my pink tingling lips, we are both panting for air, and I give him a disgusted dirty look, willing myself not to rush up and kiss him again. Truth be told, his lips feel far too perfect on my own. Truth be told, I still know that I love him.

"Don't look at me that way, Mac," he says once he's gotten enough air to respond to my glare.

I take a step away from him and my back hits the wall. "You have no right-" I say with a shaky voice.

"I have every right!" he says, taking a step closer and I slip away to the other end of the room quickly, putting distance between us. "I _know_ that you love me. I can see it in your eyes, Makayla!"

"I am getting _married_, Puck!" I shout at him, forcing him to listen, holding up my left hand, letting my ring glitter in the candle- light.

He quickly steps towards me again and I dart across the room, wanting so badly to just hate him as he spits the truth at me. "To a fey you don't even love!" he says, following me, until he has me trapped in a corner, no escape, no more running. "To a Prince that doesn't even love you!" I think that he is going to stop, but he doesn't. "What happens in a year or two when the rest of the Court realizes that you're both not meant to be together? What happens in five when you have to give the Court a child, Mac? What happens when Mab decides to exile you both for dishonor in her own family? What happens when the fey all find out that the only reason Sage is marrying you is because he pities that his brother turned you into a monster?"

I glare into his bright, hopeful, frustrated eyes, clinging to my cold winter magic to muster up the spite to say my words. "How dare you," I snap at him in a low, angry voice. I can feel myself struggling to fight back tears. "At least Sage has had the decency to protect me these past few months, which is more than I can say for you."

"What?" he breathes, sounding frustrated still desperate.

I explode. "You were my best friend, Puck! You were my best friend and you didn't even try to save me! I can still see you in my head when they took me away. You didn't even look at me. You didn't even try to fight for me!" I am so close to tears. "You just gave me to Rowan," I croak. "You let them turn me into this. I loved you, and you just gave me up." My voice shrinks from yelling to quietly sobbing, until my eyes are overflowing, my lungs are gasping for breath, and my body is shivering in anger and sorrow.

I see his hope flee, rage taking its place on Puck's handsome features. "Is that really what you think?" he says coldly, angrily, despite my cold tears that rush down my face.

I don't let him offer an explanation and I don't answer his question, I push past him hard, running from the hallway, down a labyrinth of dreadfully familiar tunnels. I don't even hear Puck follow me. I just run fast and faster, ungracefully tripping over my dress, getting more and more lost, until I fling open a door and find myself in the night air, or what I find to be the summer, night air.

A pink and white garden shines in the moonlight and I am sobbing uncontrollably. I hear my name called from a distance, but I don't look back into the hallway, I dash further and further into the garden, ripping my shimmering gown on untamed branches, undoing my tightly pinned back hair with every feather light step and teardrop that falls.

And when I finally break free of the pink and white branches, I collapse to the ground, gasping and sobbing, my tears staining the tickling grass. I am thudding my fist against the ground, yelling slurs of anger and agony, crying until my throat is sore and my eyes are raw.

And when I look up, I see that damned flower from a distant dream, glittering in the moonlight. The bloody red rose thriving and flourishing, the once bud of a tiny ice flower now just as beautiful and big as the rose. They are both growing together, intertwining, thriving, but I can't help but feel even more hurt and rage. I want to tear the flowers from the ground, I want to step on it and snatch the magic away from the dying thing, pull each petal apart painfully and feel the pain rip through me.

I can't. When I see it shimmering in the moonlight, I sob harder, I haven't cried like this since my mother died all those years ago. And I feel just as alone in this same faerie world.

Except, I hear footsteps, and I can't even compose myself enough to look up. Somehow I just know it's him, I can feel his cool presence calming me as he glances at the flower, and sits down close to me, letting me crawl into his lap and sob into his elegant formal-wear.

Sage strokes my hair and hushes me into sniffles and silent tears. I am clinging to his white vest, my perfectly manicured nails clinging to the fabric, not wanting him to leave. I can't even look my friend, my brother, my fiancé in his emerald eyes. I can't admit who I'm sobbing for.

He knows though. I know that he knows. I talk into his chest as he rubs my arms and smoothes back my messy black curls. "I still love him," I gasp into his chest, and Sage just holds me tighter, letting me get my emotion out.

"Quiet, now," he says, holding me, comforting me, protecting me as always.

I have to look up at him. And when I do, I find his kind eyes and his all-knowing smile and I'm at peace. I don't know if he's upset with me. I don't know why he is smiling. All I do know is in that moment, I love Sage. I don't love him like I love Puck: I don't love him like a horrible heartbreak. I love him like a best friend: I love him like my only family. And I regret and question our decision to be married. In my heart, I know that he will never find true happiness because of me. I know that I will never be good enough for him. I know that Puck is right, however selfish his words were. I know that I can't take advantage of Sage's kind heart.

But I can't tell him.

When? I ask myself.

I can't. Not today. Not here. Not now.


	11. Dreams

I've cried all the tears possible. My eyes droop with exhaustion. I'm so close to falling to sleep in Sage's strong arms. My eyes open and close slowly, like a thick film has been placed over my entire world.

"Let's get you back to your room," he sighs, hoisting me up into his arms as I try to speak. My voice comes out as a garbled moan that turns into a hiccup. I'm in no condition to return to the party: puffy eyed and exhausted. I don't complain, but put my arms around his neck, hiding my face in his chest, the royal emerald cutting a diamond- type shape into my forehead.

We're walking and walking, and Sage is talking to me, because I feel his chest rumble and hear his kind voice.

I don't even consider that he could be talking to someone else, until I'm laying back down in my safe warm summer bed, tiny summer creatures gossiping around me, nestled in my curls. I hear another voice that is not Sage's.

"You have to know that this is best for her," Sage says even toned, almost trying to convince his guest. I feel like they're watching me sleep, but with my last moments of consciousness, I am struggling to listen to the conversation.

Puck's voice, clear and sharp, cuts through the room, and I can do nothing to stop it from reaching my ears. "I am what is best for her. I love her," he says, like a needy schoolboy.

Sage sighs. "If you love her, you'll want to keep her safe, Robin," he explains the reasoning behind our marriage.

"No," Puck spits, enraged again. "If I love her, I'll keep her happy."

"You're being irrational."

"What do you care?" Puck snaps. "She's just your puppet."

It's one of the first times I've ever heard Sage truly angered. And it's frightening even in my exhaustion. "Do not put words in my mouth and emotion in my heart," Sage hisses. "I respect your love for her, Robin Goodfellow, but I will do what I think is right for Makayla. You think you can keep her happy? How? Being chased by both courts? Or better yet, hiding her here again? It's bigger than you or me or her, Robin. Her fate is tied directly with both our courts, you know that. You know that there is more at play here, more at stake."

"I won't stop fighting for her," Puck says quietly, spitefully, and I don't even know how he can be so malicious towards Sage.

"I'm counting on it," he retorts, and I am so curious, but sleep takes me away to good dreams.

In my sleep I am with Puck, wearing clothes so human it makes me smile. A pair of dark jeans are slung low on my hips and a maroon cami hangs on my body comfortably. My black curls tickle my bare arms and blows in the wind lightly. My head rests on Puck's stomach as we both lay in a patch of sweet smelling grass, reminding me too much of our pink and white garden.

I know it's not real, and I can't resist asking, "Why did you let me leave?"

He responds quite Puck- like. The Puck I know and love says cheerily, sarcastically, "Of all the questions to ask in such a gorgeous dream as this, Mac, you have to pick the one that we're going to fight about the most?"

I chuckle, picking a blade of grass from the ground, feeling its dying life force fade between my fingers. "Just this one, Puck," I ask, squinting in the sunshine to see his red hair and amused face.

"I didn't let you leave," he says to me, running a hand through my hair. I am so calm, it's almost uneasy. How am I so calm? "I was forced to not do anything about it. Oberon knew I would react without thinking. Do you remember when he yelled at you and you ran off?" I nodded against his abdomen a 'yes'. "Oberon ordered me to not talk to you or look at you or save you. I couldn't not follow his orders.

"Pushover," I snort, masking my hurt.

"It's not like that," Puck sighs. "I literally can't not do what he says. It complicated, Mac. But when you left, I never stopped trying to communicate with you, to be with you. I never gave up on us."

I pushed back a lump in my throat, threatening to make me cry again. My heart tearing in two. My duty confused. My head spinning. The dream seemed to real. And I couldn't help but notice that Puck was too. "This is real, isn't it?"

Puck snaps and the world fades to white. The floors, the walls, the ceiling: white, undersigned concrete. "I mean every word, Mac. I'll never stop fighting for you."

"God, you suck," I mutter at him, still laying back against his chest, his hand still playing with my hair, my eyes watering as I shut them tight and awake to a new winter day.


	12. Desperate Secrets

I'm sick that morning. Gaitha has vanished and I'm left in a dark, cold, lonely room. Sweat turning cold and body shaking, I pull my hair back and let my stupidity cleanse my system as I vomit into a molding wooden bucket in the bathroom. I shouldn't have gotten so drunk last night. I barely spoke with the Oberon or Titania. I wasn't even there half the night.

A panic hits me as I get time to think in between heaving up the contents of my stomach. What if someone saw me with Puck? Or heard anything that I had heard last night.

'I'll never stop fighting for you.' His voice echoes in my ears, from my dreams, from last night. I want to throw up again at the thought of his voice, but my stomach is simply empty, so I collapse from the wall onto the icy bathroom floor. I can't even muster up the strength to cry.

A dull magic pounds through me, no doubt trying to right my previously inebriated body. I think that I'm about to pass out on the bathroom floor when Sage comes in quietly, lighting up the dark room with several candles.

He wraps a blanket around me, but I push him away and shrug the blanket off my shoulders as I pull myself to sit against the wall. I can't accept his kindness anymore. Something won't let me. Maybe it's the conversation I overheard last night. Maybe it's that uneasy feeling that something bad is going to happen. Maybe it's just that I don't want him seeing me this weak and this vulnerable.

"Are you okay?" he asks me, standing in the doorway, looking me over cautiously.

"No," I snap, my knees pulling to my chest, my forehead burying itself in my palms. I feel disgusting and awful inside.

He waits a few minutes before telling me, "We should talk about this."

I nod, although the movement probably looks like I'm having a stroke since I don't raise my head.

"What's wrong, Mac?" he asks me, sitting down right in front of me cross legged. I have to look up at his attentive emerald eyes.

"I heard you and Puck last night," I decide to admit to him. And he doesn't look shocked, so I continue. "And then Puck was talking to me in my dream." This seems to upset him in a small way. His eyebrow twitches and his face hardens as his muscles tense lightly. It's the most I've ever seen him feel before, except in that vision in his room. I am silent, letting him speak next.

"He is a fool," Sage states, and I think he's struggling to stay calm.

Something inside my chest makes me continue, despite his display of anger. "I heard you yelling at him, Sage," I say, waiting for an explanation.

He tries to stay even toned by he rises to his feet quickly, pacing to keep even headed as always. He is so human-like in this moment as he speaks with emotion. "When I told you that I would protect you no matter what, I meant it. I want you to be safe." He struggles with his next words. "I can't really know how you're feeling right now, and I'm not asking you to choose between us, Mac. That's the last thing I want. I want you to be safe _and_ to be happy. But I need you to know that if you run off with Puck, you won't be either of those things. The courts, both of them, will hunt you down. Wars will be started over you." Sage keeps talking faster, the tension and emotion in the air gaining power. "And sooner or later someone will try to kill you and him for the chaos you started. Sooner or later someone will find you and drag you back here for a life full of misery and torture. And then even I won't be able to help you, Mac."

I take a breath as he continues, the magic in the air lighting a heartrending spark that shakes me to the core. I don't feel like me anymore. I don't think he's talking to me anymore, even if he mentions my name. No, there's something more here that I can't understand yet.

"Stay with me," he pleads, looking right into my eyes, dropping down to his knees in front of me and grabbing my hands forcefully. I'm terrified of his watering eyes that stare into mine so deeply. My muscles tense, but he clings to my shivering hands still. "Please, stay. I can keep you safe. I'll protect you. Please don't leave." He's begging. And I'm motionless, glued to the floor, staring into his eyes. "Please don't leave me again." I gulp down a lump in my throat as I hold his hands tightly. Again. Don't leave me. Again.

"Sage-" I breathe out, and his eyes drop to the floor. It's an overwhelming about of emotion for both of us and I can barely speak.

His comforting hands draw away from mine and a pearly white bracelet is there. No, the remnants of a pearl bracelet is there. I don't even know what to say, so I shockingly and painfully scoot next to him, and wrap my arms around his broad chest. He lifts his arm up and across my back, appreciating the comforting embrace. I can only lean against Sage, holding him, letting him hold me.I feel his winter magic thrumming through him into me like a heartbeat. Like a very broken heartbeat.

After a few seconds, I have to ask what that was all about, but I put it nicely. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask him, my words muffled against his chest.

And as soon as I speak, Sage pulls himself away from me, and walks out of the room, throwing the pearls to the floor as he leaves. They disappear in tiny pink flames as they hit the floor.

"Sage?" I call, using the wall to stand to my unsteady feet, but my door to my room slams shut, and I am alone in darkness and silence, utterly confused and hurt. I know I have to find out what that was all about, but I can't really move without getting dizzy.

I manage to shuffle to my closet, pull out a pair of dark skinny jeans, one of Sage's oversized grey sweaters, a pair of black lace up combat boots, and some warm wool socks, throwing the outfit onto my bed.

And with as much speed I change into my day clothes, though it must only be midnight, and trudge out the door after Sage, trying to remember where his study is. I get lost again in the maze of hallways, desperate to find the man who vowed he needed to protect me.


	13. Memories Come to Life

Once I am thoroughly lost in the dark, cold hallways, I stop for a second to try and get my bearings. A magic pounds in my veins, one I had almost forgotten about. And instead of being taught how to use it, I close my eyes and feel the magic, really feel it. 'Listen,' I tell myself or my magic, whichever one is listening. 'This is important. Just bring me to Sage, okay?'

And after my prep talk I wait. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds.

And it's then that I feel a tug on my wrist, like a ghost trying to pull me along, or get my attention. My eyes close, not of my own free will, and I see my surroundings. But a lady in a long, pink, Victorian gown stands before me. She's a dream. Her skin as washed out as my own. Her hair as black. Her eyes as blue. She's a mirror of myself, an exact mirror. I want to speak to her, but I can't. I open my eyes and she's gone, but she closes my eyes again for me.

When I see her again, she is irritated, and tugs my wrist, dragging me forward with her, guiding me down the hallways, even though my eyes are very, very closed. The angel-looking figure doesn't speak, she doesn't look back, she just holds my wrist and keeps me walking and walking.

I should be scared or freaked out. I should run. But I don't. I let the girl, looking only slightly older than myself, guide me through the maze.

She stops at a door and points. I am about to ask what is behind the door, but she shushes me by placing a silent finger over my open mouth. The Victorian beauty then moves her index finger to touch my temple, and I feel a chill go down my spine. One hand strokes my cheek, the other hand's index finger moves slowly from my forehead to her forehead. It's an odd, motherly-like moment, and somehow I understand the message: 'Just ask for help, and I'll come.'

And before I can reach for the doorknob, she stops me, forces open my hand, and presses a non-broken pearl bracelet into my palm. It is simple, save for the single silver studded emerald shaping one of the beads on the bracelet.

I open my eyes, looking up, expecting to see her, but I don't. The bracelet is still in my palm, but she is not before me. I try closing my eyes, but she's really gone. And I can't help thinking that was one of the weirdest occurrences of my life. So much is happening right now. I just need to find Sage.

I clutch the bracelet tightly, and enter the room. It's the study. It's Sage's study. I wonder how the ghost did it, how the vision knew that I would need her help, that I would need her to take me here.

I look around the dark, unlit, eerie study silently, wondering where Sage is. I don't think he's here. I don't expect anyone to be in the room. But quite suddenly, I hear a voice. And it's not Sage's, although it's just as familiar.

"Makayla Aewood," Rowan's voice echoes in my head. I see a shadow move from across the room and my body tenses as Rowan stands from his place behind the chair. I can't see his face, just his shadowy outline. The door closes tightly behind me, but I still try to jiggle the handle. It's locked, and I'm trapped in this room with one of my biggest enemies.

Quickly, I slide the bracelet onto my wrist and hide it under my long sleeves. I won't let Rowan take this treasure that I can tell means so much more than I know. "Where's Sage?" I snap, despite my sheer exhaustion. I stand wobbly on two chicken legs with a lack of weapons or energy. I can't even think about putting up a fight right now.

But Rowan seems civil as he speaks to me. Well, civil enough. "You continue to hinder my plans," he sighs, folding his arms across his chest. He walks around the leather chair and over to me. I stand my ground, unable to do anything more. I can't even come up with a sassy comeback.

"Where is Sage?" I repeat, looking around nervously, then back to Rowan.

Rowan chuckles, standing uncomfortably close in front of me. "You won't find him here. He tends to take to the forest when he gets… emotional," Rowan is mocking his brother. "But I knew you'd come here after Sage went off. He hasn't done that since-" He stops himself. "Well, it's been a while since our Sage has gotten that upset."

I force my way sideways, away from Rowan, to grab the door handle to leave. "I'm going to look for Sage," I mutter in a low voice. "I need to talk to him." He stops me, slamming me back against the wall. At his touch my scar across my left shoulder and collarbone burns like intense frost bite— my iron wound that I had forgotten about pulses with a hissing pain that is visible on my face, even in the dark.

"Stay out of my way," Rowan says through gritted teeth, his face barely an inch from my own.

My jaw sets and my lips press into a thin line. My wound hurts like it's fresh again. I need to leave and find Sage and find out what happened with him. I have to find out who that ghost was. And my mind races as Rowan's warning sinks in.

I push Rowan backwards with as much strength as I can muster, and he moves his weight off me. I can't be sure why, though. I feel very threatened. Adrenaline pounds too strong through my tired body, and as I push Rowan back, I fall to the ground, breathing heavily, recovering from the pain and the mental fatigue.

Rowan stands over me. Why hasn't he left? He gave me my warning.

I see him squat down next to me as I catch my faint breath on my hands and knees. I close my eyes and see the hem of a floor length pink gown. The ghost in the hallway. And I know why I'm having trouble breathing and standing and functioning. She's trying to talk to me. No. She's trying to talk to Rowan. Rowan?

"You see her, don't you?" he laughs evilly. "Are you here, Cassandra?"

I open my eyes, not wanting to see her hem anymore, and turn my face towards Rowan, spitting at him. And my body crumples to the floor. She's trying to take over. This ghost is trying to talk to Rowan _through _me. He can't see her. She needs to speak. And suddenly, it's not a question whether or not she can borrow my body, she takes it, greedily.

I don't control my movements, she does. And her eyes move up to meet Rowan's as her hand reaches out to stroke his face. I'm panicking as I watch from my own two eyes, as I watch her actions through my body. A slap cracks across Rowan's face and the woman inside me is furious.

"Sneaky," Rowan laughs, holding his cheek. "You used the girl to get in, didn't you."

"Get out!" my voice barks her words. "You greedy, selfish-"

Rowan stands as I do. "Easy now, Cassandra," Rowan taunts. "You don't want to overwork your host. She's not all that strong yet."

"Don't you talk about my-" she stops herself. "Don't you talk about Makayla that way!" She is advancing on him, and to my surprise, he's backing up. I feel her draw up magic in my hands and shoulders, and I remember how she does it, how she just wells up that energy, holding it still in her chest for a moment.

"Well now, I would never want to offend you, my lady." Still the coward taunts, and the ghost cannot take it anymore. She releases her well of magic onto Rowan in one precise plan. He flies across the room, into a bookcase, and is held ten feet in the air by this woman's sheer willpower.

"Quiet!" she yells. "I should kill you right now and right here, you bastard." She seems to pause as she glares at Rowan coldly. There is so much spite in her throat it is hard to speak. I am struggling to pay attention to her thoughts, yearning to know more about Sage, about Cassandra, about Rowan. "Touch her again and you will answer for it." She drops him to the cold floor turns around, storming out the door, down the hallways and out into the too- cold air.

I wonder how we walked so fast. I question how this is all happening too fast. I'm scared that I haven't found this frighteningly abnormal until she peels herself away from my body, and I'm lying on the ground in the fetal position, snow soaking into Sage's sweater as I see the hem of a pink dress before my closed eyes.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, breathing hard, fading in and out of vision. "Find him, Makayla. Find him and ask him about me. You have the right to know now."

She's gone, and I'm shivering in the wet snow, angry and fatigued and thoroughly confused. There's too much to think about as I stagger to my feet and make my way into the dark, eerie forest, like the ghost- woman instructed me to do. I get lost a mile into the thick expanse of trees, and simply can't handle it all anymore. My head pounds, my heart races. I hit the snow- blanketed forest floor and pass out before I can find Sage.


	14. No More Lies

"Damnit, Makayla!" I hear Sage yell, and then I feel his hand on my cold cheek, on my forehead, pulling me out of the snow into his lap as I open my eyes.

I'm dizzy. The morning light hurts my eyes. And all night I dreams of memories that were never real memories, of a twin-like mother who was never really my mother, of a strange fey lullaby that's been stuck in my mind for years.

"You're okay!" He holds me, patting down my wet hair hardly giving me a chance to really wake up from my passed out state. I can't help feeling that my brother-like-friend is now more of a worried father, that there's some part of a puzzle that I'm missing.

When he releases me he bombards me with questions like 'What happened?' and 'How long were you out here?' as he helps me rise to my shaky feet. I ignore his interrogation and look him straight in his emerald eyes and ask him the question that ghost told me to ask.

"Who is Cassandra?"

He is stops, silent, his eyes narrowed, his lips parted, confused. "Where did you hear that n-"

"Who is Cassandra?" I repeat, more forceful now. "I have the right to know."

"Why don't we go back to the Court before we discuss-" he offers, trying to evade the topic.

I cross my arms across my chest. "Who is she, Sage?" I don't want to be lied to anymore. I can barely think or stand, but I need to hear the truth.

With a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, and looks me over painfully, sadly. "I didn't think I'd ever have to tell you, Mac," he says, struggling to find the right words. "Where do I even start?"

I watch him as he runs through his words before saying them slowly to me, as if to brace me for the impact he knows I can't handle.

And really, I can't. I never expected this. Not in a million years. "Cassandra-" he starts, and then rethinks, then starts again. "She and I were very close friends for years. She was very independent, very stubborn, a lot like you in that sense. We spent all of our time together. I taught her to hunt and to fight. She taught me how to enjoy life and not be so wound up in royal duties."

"You loved her," I say for him, because it looks like he's fighting saying the words. I can do nothing but process what Sage says to me.

Sage nods and continues. "As time went on, she took an interest in the lives of mortals. She loved to go and bring back these large, outrageous looking gowns from a long time past in the human world. It was fantastic the stories she would tell, the life in her eyes when she returned from her treasure hunts."

He takes a breath. "When she told me that she had fallen in love with a mortal, I was so devastated." Sage won't even meet my eyes now. "I couldn't understand how she was so…foolish. She wanted to run away with him. Cassandra wanted to live in the human realm with her plaything. And I couldn't do anything to stop her. I tried to make her stay, but she just left."

I feel the pearl bracelet that she has given me not hours before now like a paperweight on my wrist. My stomach churns uneasily and I can do nothing but listen.

"In the Winter Court, Makayla, you can't just abandon your duties. It's not right to leave your responsibilities, especially to run away with some human," Sage explains. "So our court found her and brought her back a year later. There were so many disputes between the Summer and Winter Courts about whether or not she should be allowed to keep her mortal. And there was physical violence for a short time on the freedoms of upper-class fey."

My eyes hit the ground. This is why he hadn't wanted me to run away with Puck.

"Her human lover was killed by the court in the process." Sage struggles to keep an even tone. "That same day Cassandra told me that she was pregnant with his child. She was going to have a half mortal, half fey baby, and she knew the court would kill her for it."

My heart drops. My eyes water. I connect the last piece of the puzzle in my head. "No," I breathe, watching Sage's face.

"Cassandra had the baby girl anyways," Sage's voice is forced. "And together we cursed away her magical ability. And before the Winter Court could kill both the child and Cassandra, we gave the baby to a struggling family in New York who wanted a daughter so desperately. She grew up with them until about a few months ago, when Rowan found out that Cassandra hadn't killed her daughter before she was sentenced to death. He found you, and undid the curse I put on you to make you half fey again, and I'm sure he has a plan for what he's doing next."

My throat hurts as I suck in air. "And Cassandra?" I asked, quietly.

"She was killed a week after you were born." Sage watches my reaction as he holds back his own. I can tell that he's glad he could tell me. I can tell he's nervous now that he has. I can tell that we're both very conflicted at the moment.

I am choking on the lump in my throat. "So my mom-" I can't even finish the sentence. I take a breath before moving to a different thought entirely. "This wedding?" I manage to get out.

"It's the only way that I could protect you, at least for a little while," Sage paces, still watching me. "I promised her that I would protect you no matter what."

My head is reeling, and I think I am going to vomit again. "It wasn't just a political move," I say, more to myself. "Does Mab know?" My heart races.

"She found out the day that Rowan dragged you in here," he tells me. "And she told him that she won't have any part in it. But if Rowan makes this public, the Queen will have to take a stance."

"Oh my God," I breathe, looking up at Sage, pushing my hair back as I absorb the information.

I have to tell him about how I saw Cassandra. About how she took over my body and about how she lead me to and confronted Rowan. And Sage is furious and amused all at once.

We stay there talking for nearly half the day before we walk back to the Court. Nothing is resolved, everything is confused, and I can't help but long for my days of living in my simple human world.

"What happens now?" I ask Sage, a nervous ball forming in the pit of my stomach.

He shakes his head, looking down at me. "I'm not sure, Mac."


	15. 200 Years

I sit in my bed, underneath layers of blankets, staring out the window, mind churning with the news from today.

Sage brought me back inside. It was then that we went to his office. Rowan had already gone. We sat for hours, spending the entire day talking about my real mother, my real father. Talking about how Sage had only spoke with my real father on one occasion, right before his death. He had a foreign accent, smooth as cream, and sun-kissed human skin. And he was so lively, even before his death. Sage told me about how he would sang his strange upbeat songs, tunes I could only imagine were Spanish tango melodies that made me laugh. My hair, my laugh, my strong jaw. And I could only just imagine him spinning me around, teaching his only daughter his Latin dances. So unlike the father I was given to, so unlike my morose human family.

And he described my mother, a spitting image of myself. My skin, my eyes, my stubbornness. He told me stories of where they used to hunt and run in the woods such a long time ago. I learned of his utter fascination with her human-like ideals and how he is so intrigued because I have that same bright-eyed-ness when I used to talk about my old world, which was seldom. Sage told me how he stared at me, his emerald eyes trying to forget my mother when he stared at me. He told me how forceful and how passionate she was in every aspect of her life. How much she fought to keep her only love. How long she sobbed when she had to give me up. How determined her eyes were set, even as she faced her death.

I couldn't ask how my parents died. Instead, I asked, "How long ago did they live?" I remembered Cassandra in her pale pink, floor length gown, hovering before me, so elegant, so regal.

"They died in 1782 in your human years," Sage laughed. And I was stunned for a minute.

"I was born 200 years ago?"

"Time moves differently in our two worlds," Sage told me, and I could help but wonder if everyone I knew in my human life was dead now. It was a strange thought. A strange, saddening thought that I pushed away quickly, trying to forget everything from that world.

Sage told me about Cassandra's place in the Court, about her duties, her alliance with Mab. He said that Mab never befriended any, only made alliances with a chosen few. He told me about how mad the Queen was when Sage had to tell her about Cassandra running away to the human world, how much of a grudge she held against my mother, how she didn't even flinch when she gave the order to have her executed. How she taunted my father to try and weaken his soul before he was killed, how she mocked and beat and spat on him. How Mab was secretly held a grudge against him because he swept her closest confidant away.

He told me more stories than I could remember about my mom and dad. About their love, about his hurt, about how he couldn't not try to protect me when I was a child, and how he still felt inclined to protect me now.

I lie in bed so still as I think about a Sage from 200 years ago, holding me, 200 years ago, protecting me, 200 years ago, still protecting me now, 200 years later. 200 years.

I think about my mother before my eyes close to sleep, and when I dream, she is there. Cassandra is holding a handsome tanned figure's hand, stepping into a cool stream, and laughing and kicking the sparkling water into the air. She is wearing a Grecian dress of the most gossamer, white material and gold jewelry adorns her entire person. He is wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and black, loose pants. His hair is down to his shoulders, and his eyes are dark and warm. The Grecian sun is rising in a forest of olive trees and tall, skinny birches. There is light and beauty and simplicity.

And I stand barefoot, swathed in that same gossamer material, watching it all. My dress is short, one shouldered, loose, empire waisted. My hair is around me in messy loose curls, a mix between my father's tightly curled mop of hair and my mother's soft waves.

I take a step towards them both, and they look up at me, startled and smiling still. My father's large white smile and my mother's knowing smirk. I walk further into the clearing, silver engagement ring on my finger, pearl bracelet around my wrist. And my mother is the first one to approach me. She is taller than her ghost, standing above me high enough that when she tightly wraps me into her strong arms, my head it buried into her shoulders as she strokes my hair and I desperately hold back tears.

My father is humming a familiar Spanish lullaby, and when my mother finally releases me with not a tear in her eye, my father pulls me into a tight, warm embrace. I feel safe and protected and at home finally. But I know the dream can't last. Even as we talk and talk and talk for what seems like hours, I forget everything they say, and I cannot stay rooted.

"Cassie," my father whispers. "It's time to leave now." He takes her hand lovingly, kisses me on the forehead and lets my mother touch me cheek with her free hand.

"We did good, Robert," she says to him, staring right into my eyes, softly stroking my cheek. "We did good." My eyes slip closed in the comfort of the moment.

And when I open them, I'm alone in a cold room, dimly lit by the rising sun out my window.


	16. Ponderings

I have to fight to think through everything. All I want to think about is my mother, my father. I want to talk to them again, feel their arms around me, twirl in silky gowns, and dip my feet into that cool river of my dreams. I want to stay in those moments forever.

But there is more fighting for a voice in my mind. The wedding, Puck, Rowan's evil plot, Mab, war, my own safety.

I can't help but feel the urge to speak with Mab. She had known my mother, and my father. She would know what to make of all this. She has always been cruel and biting to me, but she has the grace and knowledge of being queen, which is really what seems the most important to me. But how do I tell her that her son wishes to take over her kingdom, nonetheless over me.

Puck slips into my mind next. I can't stop thinking of our passionate kiss in some abandoned closet, so sweet and tender, but rough and hurried. My lips tingle and heart flutters as I gather my knees to my chest to think. An image of us running away together replays in my mind. We run away from the courts and into a world that doesn't accept either of us. It never rights itself. I want to be with him more than anything, and my heart can't help but try to sway my mind to do so. But I remember that we both can't belong in a human world. We both belong to no court. There is no sanctuary for us, or our children. Our _children_? I chide myself for thinking such girlish romances and reality rains down hard, my mind filled with all the worries and concerns bottled inside.

Run away with Puck, I ponder as I spin the emerald engagement ring around my right ring finger. Marry Sage, another voice commands me, for he is the safer and more logical choice. Run away with Puck and Rowan will kill us both and bring down the Winter Court. Marry Sage and risk his reputation, his family, and the downfall of the Winter Court.

Such a nuance I am. I should just be dead for all the trouble I've caused. It only seems fair.

I jump when I hear the door creak open. There's no one there, but I dare not move to close it, or call out to it. Magic in my fingers pounds through my veins like a heartbeat. No, like two heartbeats. But they're not my own. There are two people at the door. There is a feint feint murmuring. And after several moments, a figure in a black cape steps slowly into the room, escorted by a blank-faced Sage. The sun fills the room with a yellow morning glow.

In the light, I only see the slightest tuft of red hair, but even that's enough to make my heart stop.


	17. Mutiny

I can't help throwing myself out of my bed and meeting Puck's outstretched arms, almost forgetting about Sage. My heart thuds in my chest, and I can barely speak. He holds me, warming me, and giving me a taste of summer that I miss so dearly. I don't want to let go, despite our history and despite the danger of his being here.

"What's going on?" I finally stammer out when Puck finally lets me free from his embrace.

Sage looks at the ground, clenching his teeth together, and I can see that same look in his eyes. That look that begs me to just stay, like he knows that I'm leaving. Like he knows that I can't go trough with the marriage. Like he sees my mother abandoning him. "I'll wait outside," he says, and I don't stop him. The door closes.

Puck catches my eyes in his and I can't look away. "I had to see you again, Mac," he says, desperately romantic, and I have to swoon, because really, what girl wouldn't.

"You can't be here," I say in a quiet voice, not wanting to sound cliché, but doing so anyways. "It's a really dangerous-"

"I know," he cuts me off. "Sage told me everything."

And we stare at each other. He's holding my hand, rubbing circles into the back of it, distracting me beyond belief.

"Um," I sputter, unsure of what to do or say. I so surprised and enthralled with his being here. "Why are you-"

And before I can finish the sentence, his mouth is on mine, his hood is down, and my fingers entangle themselves into his red hair, his hands move up and down my back and shoulders. It's passionate and rushed, like we won't have enough time. Enough time for what?

I'm dizzy from a lack of air as I push myself against Puck tighter, and he holds me closer. And when the bed hits the back of my legs, we both fall into it, continuing our rushed kisses and rough touching.

But I think of Sage and about his role in all of this and I know that we all have to sit down for a conversation, and soon.

"Puck," I gasp, as his lips roam their way down my neck. "Puck." I say again, pushing him back slightly. And he stops, holding himself over me, so close I can see the rings of hazel in his playful eyes. "Puck," I speak again, a sigh of love- no. Is it love?

"Yes?" he breathes, his mouth sweet, like spring-time dew and something citrus. It baffles me for a minute. Why did we stop kissing?

"Puck," I say, to make myself remember.

His smirk reaches his eyes as his hand rests on my hip.

"Puck," I mutter, so quietly. And his lips are on mine again, eager for something, hungry for something. And I respond with equal enthusiasm, pushing my body up to meet his. Our legs entangle together.

And suddenly, I stop again. Pushing him back gently, reaching my hand up to stroke his face as he leans over me. "We-" I breathe, drinking in his scent and almost loosing my purpose again. "We can't- not now." My mind rights itself and my body protests, but I know that there are more important ways to spend our time.

"When?" he asks, his lips almost touching mine. But my mind is set.

I sigh sadly and look him in the eyes again. "I don't know," I tell him.

The answer doesn't even satisfy me, but he takes it, kisses me quickly on the lips again, and pulls me back onto my feet. "We need to find Sage again," he says, reaching for the handle.

"Wait!" I snap at him. "Are you even supposed to be here?" I ask, and he gives me a confused look. "You're in the Winter Court without Mab's approval. She'll be furious, Puck."

"So..?" he drawls, taking a step back from the door.

"So I'll go find Sage. And you, you stay here, okay," I instruct him, and slide around him to the door. I close it and turn around, startled.

"Oh," I gasp, quietly. "You scared me." But as I look up to see who it is, I force my back to meet the closed door. Because this isn't the person I expected to be outside my room. Because I don't know how long Rowan has stood there for. Because all I want to do is protect Puck.

"Did I?" he smirks, somewhere between annoyed and amused.

I don't meet his eyes. "Have you, uh-" I pause, catching my breath, which I didn't realized was lost. "Have you seen Sage?"

"I thought he was with you," he smirks, looking back to my door, and I know that he heard what was happening inside. I want to dart back into my room, but I restrain myself.

I lie quickly. "No, I just woke up," I say. "Bad dreams."

He steps towards me. "Makayla," he almost purrs, like he wants a favor.

"Rowan," I say sharply, stepping away, wary of the magic in my fingers and careful not to worry Puck behind the closed door.

He keeps walking towards me, and I continue to step back, trying to maintain a safe distance. But eventually my back hits a wall, and Rowan is nearly an inch from my ear as I flinch away, ready to use my power if he attacks.

"I caution you to stay out of my way," he threatens. "There are two different ways that this can go. You can cooperate, or resist, but either way has the same conclusion. I know that you've recently become aware of your heritage. And you absolutely reek of summer. Makayla, I don't care what you're up to, but let me repeat myself. Stay out of my way, and no one will have to be hurt."

I am silent, because I don't really know what to make of this, and because I feel so powerless not knowing what his plans are. So I spit the first thing I think of. "Someone always gets hurt," I say spitefully.

"Sage, Robin, Mab," he speaks in hushed tones, sharp like a dagger. Each names stings, even Mab's, because she one of the only connections to my parents. "All of them will die if you don't follow what I tell you exactly. Do you understand?"

I shove him backwards and unpin myself from the wall, even though I am shaking. "No," I hiss. "I don't think I do."

Rowan smirks. "Then they will be the ones who will pay, Miss Aewood."

"What exactly is it you're planning?" I snap. I'm frustrated, anxious, and confused. He's speaking but not saying anything. Just to do what he says, and I would rather do anything but that.

"Mutiny, Makayla," he says simply, and with that he's gone.

"Wait!" I chase after him, but when he rounds the corner, he's disappeared. And my heart is beating fast. I have to find Sage. And Puck. And-

My bare feet step on a piece of broken glass and I hiss, realizing now that I'm barely wearing anything in a pair of black shorts and a loose royal blue cardigan. Not precisely sleepwear, but I can't help feeling embarrassed.

I catch my breathe and put my hands on my hips to decide what to do next. Find Sage, or retreat back to Puck. But my mind wins out and I go in search of the Winter prince, despite my bleeding foot and shaking legs. Sage has to know about his brother.


	18. AN: A Formal Apology

Author's Note:

If you're still with me up to this point, good for you.

What happened was basically that this summer, I was super busy with my job as a nanny to 4 wonderful kiddos, and what time wasn't taken up working for the family, I was getting fit and/or sleeping.

AND NOW ITS MY FIRST MONTH OF COLLEGE!

So basically, I'm not sure when I'm going to finish this story. I'm not even very sure about the direction that it's going in at this point (but I have a few dramatic ideas). So this is the official note to say that you will have to wait a while for the next chapter.

If you're still interested by that point then I LOVE YOU READERS MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE!

But right now, I've got real life stuff that I must tend to.

I hope you understand…

…and forgive me.

Bye.


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